


reckless, immortal; gifted, cursed

by geniewish



Series: it's supernatural, baby [2]
Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood Loss, Established Relationship, Hyungki, Light Angst, M/M, Magic, Near Death Experiences, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sexual Content, Vampires, Witch Kihyun, Witches, but there is also romance and fluff okay, no one gets harmed for life dont worry, please read a/n for more detailed tw, rebirth magic, vampire hyungwon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:28:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21705982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geniewish/pseuds/geniewish
Summary: 1.reckless, immortal: hyungwon spent centuries rejecting his vampire nature, building his humanity, cherishing other people's lives, and all it takes is a faint whisper of desire for his walls to crumble. two deadly words, which kihyun pronounced with clarity of a man not as appreciative of his ardent heartbeat.2.gifted, cursed: ghosts have always been hyunwoo's friends. ghosts have never lied to him. ghosts have never betrayed him. ghosts kept him company when every living being had disappointed him with their frail mortality and predictive ending. that is, until hoseok has appeared in one of his foresight dreams. deadly dreams.
Relationships: Chae Hyungwon/Yoo Kihyun, Lee Hoseok | Wonho/Son Hyunwoo | Shownu
Series: it's supernatural, baby [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1564483
Comments: 1
Kudos: 40





	reckless, immortal; gifted, cursed

**Author's Note:**

> helloww this work is technically a side piece for [season of the witch](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21013397/chapters/49975610)  
> but it can be read separately as there's barely any context to their relationship. but for those who did read the main fic – yay to some darker stuff and deeper look into their previously comic relief characters
> 
> there is a TW for this chap (hyungki), primarily for blood (a lot of blood!!!), blood loss due to blood drinking and apparent near death experience (!!!), metaphorical violence (that doesn't actually happen unless we consider blood drinking as that), an episode of panic attack and mention of suicidal thoughts!! the scenes with blood are pretty descriptive so please proceed with caution or you might have to miss out on this one since it's pretty dark too and involves images and imagines of death; but pay in mind they Are witches and there is some rebirth magic involved so do not worry he comes out just fine and fresh as a daisy
> 
> but other than that, i hope you like it! (too scared to say enjoy here ahgdhsj)

Hyungwon is too old to experience hunger.

Hunger is not a daily occurence; hunger is not a stab in the stomach every other morning, not a clawing cold in his throat every other week, not a parade of black spots in front of his eyes every once in a while. Hunger is not even a rare fleeting thought he has to chase away with harsh cussing and slaps on his cheeks. Hunger has long become an abstract institutionalised concept he read about in textbooks and took as a theoretical knowledge he wasn’t too inclined to prove true. 

Hunger is a feeling of discomfort, a disbalanced chemical reaction, a biological nuance. Hunger is weakness, a nauseous sensation in his stomach, slight dizziness in his head that intervenes with accurate perception of the world and colours it black. Hunger is a desire, a craving, a yearning, a lust for life, a thirst for breath, an ache for release. Hunger is a plague, scary and deadly. 

Because no matter how hungry he may get, he would never die. 

Hunger can settle in his stomach like a jar of buzzing bugs, biting him from the inside and feeding off his life strength until there is nothing left, until they grow weak together, until they are starved and buried under the flesh. Hunger can spread in his veins like snake poison, burning, filling every vessel with acid until they burst, turning him numb and waiting until he is motionlessly writhing in pain, body frozen but blazing on every level under his skin. Hunger can make him go insane, swarm his brain, infestate his ability to think, contaminate his identity, desecrate his established morals and defile those he keeps close to himself. 

And despite the inhuman torture, despite the loss of everything that makes him just a little bit more human, despite the degradation of his prideful humanity, he would stay as alive as a jellyfish in the Meditteranean Sea. With a loss of humanity, he loses his maturity, reverts back into the polyp stage and waits for the cycle to start again. 

Except it doesn’t until the hunger is satisfied.

It took decades to defy – the hunger, that is. It took years of initial starvation, embracing the agony, fighting the insanity, thrashing and screaming until the hunger caused repulsion and not satisfaction. It took decades of loving humans, decades of patience, decades of painful physical contact and terrifyingly delicious urge to destroy, decades of drilling higher morals and laws into his skull for the hunger to stop smelling like sweet salvation. 

And, dear god, it took a century of undying nausea and convulsions to come to terms with the ever-so-agonising existence of a vampire. It took centuries for fear of spilled blood to kick in and settle in his mind like a scene from a horror film. It took centuries of planting and nursing and growing the seed of self-deprecation to learn to despise what was given to him by some fucked up natural occurrence. Human life – precious; your life – a disgrace to this world. 

Centuries of treading the grounds with dry lips and sour tongue, blind to hunger and pure of manic murdering impulses, and when blood bags were finally introduced in the 1950’s, Hyungwon took one like a little school boy would buy a new notebook for his math homework. Absolute, deadly apathy. 

Three hundred and fifty years of suppressing bodily reactions to the point of full wipeout, and Hyungwon tastes the bitter donor blood with an impending threat of empty vomiting. He knew no hunger, but he spent the next sixty years reviving his desire to live with weekly doses of poison he dedicated centuries rejecting.

Hunger, a word of six letters, four of which are shared with his name. Hunger, a concept, a news headline, a biological structure. Hunger, a feeling so distant from him he doesn’t immediately recognise it when it strikes again in a form of a human being he swore to love and cherish with his entire hex of immortality. 

It sparks like arousal at first, hot and viscous and pleasing, warming him from the inside and stinging ever so slightly. It heats him up like iron, clings to his organs, and he dismisses it on excitement, on desire, on love that overwhelms him sometimes to the point he sobs in blissful torment. It burns, it clutches his insides and squeezes them so hard they ooze acid, it whips him with fire when Kihyun whispers, quietly and heavily, into the dim-lit hallway where he was gently pressed against the wall, “Bite me.”

_Bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite––_

“What?”

 _Bite me_ , and the hunger settles in his body as if it never left; _bite me_ , and it’s all he ever hears, understands, sees, feels, knows; _bite me_ , and all the forgotten ache, all the nameless lifeless faces, all the fantasies caused by this deadly sensation, take the form of the man in front of him. 

Hunger slithers in the curve of Kihyun’s smiles, thin chapped lips and pearly teeth; hunger glints in the bottomless pools of his languid eyes; hunger blushes like his sunken cheeks and adorable elven ears, hunger dances between his fidgeting fingers, hunger thuds in tune to his heavy steps, hunger inflates inside his stomach with every breath he takes. Hunger pulsates like the desperate red artery under the thin skin of his neck, one, two, three, four, ten, forty, sixty, sixty rhythmic beats a minute; eighty after a cold praising touch; a hundred after a deep fervent kiss; a hundred twenty after––

“Bite me,” Kihyun whispers again, drunk on their shared affection, unwind in the dark of the extensive mansion, senseless with desire. 

_Bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite––_

“But,” Hyungwon whispers back, staggering for breath he doesn’t need. “I will hurt you,” comes out uncertain, feeble like dust, unwanted and discomforting and making Kihyun blink slowly and look up with a long hazy glint. 

“I want to show you something,” he says, leaning against the wall. There was a shadow of a smile curling in the corners of his lips, slender, almost invisible if it weren’t for the specks of light dancing in his irises. “How I heal, I want to show you how I heal.”

Hyungwon brings a hand to Kihyun’s face, a bony shadow covering delicate outline of his flushed cheeks. And Kihyun, although high on the hot air between them, never loses the sharp dawning arch of his lids, never lets the note of intimidating leave his features, never lets Hyungwon forget where he came from and what immense strength he possesses. Hyungwon may hide his whole face in his palms, may hold his head until he hears it crack and pour, may turn it into fragments of human remains, but Kihyun has all the power in the world to be able to resist it.

His own embodiment of hunger. His own heaven, his own hell, his own purgatory and everything in between the three. 

Bite me, bite me, bite me, and Hyungwon lets his eyes trace a slow path from Kihyun’s lips to his neck. He sees the pulse beat like lava trapped underneath the earth’s core, like a creature beating itself against the bars of a cage, like something waiting to get released. Like hunger.

Kihyun’s homely scent hits Hyungwon with double, triple intensity when he curls down. Kihyun’s breathing tangles in his hair, inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, short, quick, deep in his lungs, thin in his throat, frail out of his mouth. Every blink is a drum, and there is wind whirling in his lashes. Under his skin is embroidery of tubes and capillaries, throbbing with life, and Hyungwon imagines he can see minuscule bubbles of air rushing in and out of them at rapid speed, teasing him, giggling at him, daring him to touch, to take, to _kill_. 

And he kisses over the pounding artery, right under Kihyun’s jaw, where he is sensitive, fragile, alive. Hyungwon kisses, a tender caress of closed lips, and Kihyun wraps his arms around Hyungwon’s back and pulls him closer. Hyungwon kisses, trailing down, slow and scared and so hopelessly _hungry_ , hungry to the point his hands on Kihyun’s waist tremble. He kisses, palpable and open-mouthed, and the skin tastes like sugar, like salt, like flowers, like spices, like everything and nothing at once, because even through the veil of tissue he kisses, he feels the bitter flow of blood on his lips. 

But he settles on a vein, thin and blue, lethargic and filled with thoughts and memories and character, and it speaks to him in Kihyun’s voice, in tune to its rhythmic pumping. 

_Bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite me, bite––_

Hyungwon opens his mouth, and his fangs graze the skin with looming danger. A little bit more pressure, and Kihyun would gasp in sudden sting of pain, dig his nails into Hyungwon’s shirt and frown, wrinkle his eyebrows until a delicate fold appears between them. But he is shivering in anticipation, small palms warm and just a little clammy on Hyungwon’s back, lids fluttering close and open as Hyungwon gently lays the tips of his tongue over the jugular, marking. 

“Push me to stop,” is lost in the dense air between them, a blistering whisper into tense tendons. Kihyun only responds with a shuddering exhale; a tremble scratches at his neck at another cold slip of a tongue. 

Hyungwon’s fangs pierce through the skin. Kihyun gasps, involuntarily jerks at the pang of pain, and then suddenly, he is numb. A viscid, pulling feeling spreads from his neck to his head and limbs to the very tips of his fingers and toes. So that’s how it feels – the vampire bite. That’s how it feels – ardent heartbeat becoming slow, digits growing cold, eyelids filling with lead and stomach twisting with inexplicable desire. As if all his rationality, all his morality, all his humanity, is being sucked out along with blood. 

And Hyungwon, Hyungwon is crying on the inside. Sobbing, wailing, choking, mourning his years of dejected hunger, realising that this is what he’s been missing out on – pure, deadly euphoria. He drinks, and drinks, and with every gulp the living taste of blood turns into dark chocolate, bittersweet; into wine, smooth; into hibiscus, astringent. It burns his tongue like wax, clogs his throat, falls into his stomach like thick broth of a demented forest witch, but does it cloud his mind in thoughts so wicked it could set him on fire. 

Living blood.

Living blood is deranging, maddening, seducing, a deadly sin for a vampire, a testament, an indulgence, the apple from the tree of God, the beguiling whispers of the serpent. Hyungwon has long been damned; no centuries of starvation could ever salvage him from the sweet-sweet-sweet temptation of living blood, not now, not ever. Four hundred years of living a pitiful excuse of a vampire, and he is at last blessed with the reviving satisfaction he spent decades forgetting. 

All because he loves Kihyun. 

All because he trusts Kihyun. 

All because Kihyun’s word is a command. 

All because he knows Kihyun is unhinged, insane, absolutely out of his mind, and because he moans, _moans_ when Hyungwon presses himself closer and drinks him, drinks him and drinks him, bruising his skin and taking his life with every gulp. 

Crazy motherfucker. That’s why he loves him. Loves and retains the ability to understand that no hunger can ever compare to the torture of losing Kihyun to his own deranged nature. 

He doesn’t immediately process light scratches on his back, doesn’t feel an icy hand on his jaw and another on his chest, doesn’t hear his name being vainly whispered into the dark. He knows it’s Kihyun, and yet he can’t stop. Kihyun, Kihyun, Kihyun, keep Kihyun alive, don’t drink him dry, and yet he keeps eating into the irreparably bruised skin, keeps his grip strong on the trembling hips, steals breath after breath beyond the point of return. 

It’s the diabolical powers of the witch that push him away. An impact against the rail of the staircase wakes him up harshly, dragging him back to the dim-lit hallway, to scary silence, to… Kihyun, still leaning back against the wall, shivering, paling. Slowly losing his grip on reality. 

Hyungwon rushes to his side in a blink, but Kihyun raises his hand, stopping him. His eyes are hazy, his forehead is glistening with sweat, his lips are white, scarily so, and his neck, god, his neck is terrifyingly discoloured, purple and crimson, with two black punctures in the middle still bubbling blood on the surface. They soon become too heavy and slid down his neck into the collar of his shirt, staining it. 

He didn’t stop him in time, he let him take too much. With blurry eyes Hyungwon follows the red trail, traces folds of his clothes, and only then notices a wet stain on Kihyun’s trousers. His mad, mad boyfriend. 

“Kihyun, you need help,” Hyungwon stutters. Angry tears gather in the corners of his eyes, and the blood sinks in his stomach like mud, unpleasant, bitter, disgusting. He doesn’t want any strength from it; he wants to rip his stomach out and give Kihyun everything he’s taken from him.

But Kihyun weakly shushes him, small trembling hand still raised between them. “Watch,” he faintly whispers, and his head thuds heavily against the wall. 

He looks up at the ceiling, face so pale it paints the dim yellow lights white instead of the other way round. He calms him breathing, chest now rising slowly, with effort, as if with every exhale a spark of life threatens to leave his body. He closes his eyes for a brief second, and his lips twitch ever so slightly, as if he’s recalling a spell in his head. Hyungwon waits, frozen.

And when Kihyun opens his eyes again and looks up, his irises fog up, cloud, turn white and mortifying, like that of a deadman. Hyungwon swallows, petrified to the core, doesn’t know what will happen, is too stunned to even imagine the worst. But Kihyun doesn’t fret and instead opens his mouth, inhaling deeply. 

A frail cloud of fog appears in front of his face, twirling in the air and into his mouth. Kihyun doesn’t blink, white ghostly eyes still staring and staring, as if paralysed, and he wheezes when the smoke fully disappears inside him. The sound is rough, almost painful, triggering Hyungwon’s protective instincts, but he moves his eyes to Kihyun’s neck and holds himself back. 

The bloodied bruise fades away, like fresh ink distorted by drops of water. His skin appears fresh and clean again, colour is brought back to his cheeks, radiant and healthy. Hyungwon hears his heartbeat speed up to one, two, three, four, ten, forty, sixty a minute, and his lips paint ruddy, even prettier when parted. And just like melted wax, the two round teeth marks disappear under a layer of new skin. 

Kihyun exhales, and his eye colour shifts back to black with a vital glint. He smiles at Hyungwon with a corner of his mouth. “Fresh as a daisy,” he lightly swings his arms for emphasis. 

Hyungwon stays silent and frozen for another minute. It doesn’t come to him immediately that Kihyun is no longer in danger, that he is alive and well and very satisfied with what they’ve done – what Hyungwon had done to him. And he could’ve died, Kihyun. He could’ve died. And Hyungwon had just sent himself to hell and back trying to come to terms with it.

Kihyun presses his lips together in an awkward smile and rubs his hands. Hyungwon’s eyes are dull, barely red, unreadable like a fish, and Kihyun can tell that perhaps he’s gone a bit too far with his requests. It’s not his fault he enjoyed it. 

But Hyungwon approaches him again slowly, a miserable distance between them crossed in what feels like a mile, and brings a tentative hand to his neck. Cold thumb brushes over the area where he punctured his skin, where a thin and delicate vein is now carrying the restored blood back to the heart, as if nothing ever happened. Except there is still a veil of crimson dusting his lips, and a stream of red is slowly drying and chapping on Kihyun’s neck. 

Hyungwon wraps him in a hug slowly, carefully, as if still afraid of breaking him. Kihyun exhales with a quiet note of incredulity at the hesitation and buries himself in Hyungwon’s arms, comforted in the cold vampire embrace. 

And his heart keeps quietly beating out a stable rhythm, one, two, three, four, ten, forty, sixty a minute.

And yet days later it happens again. The hunger that hadn’t ravaged Hyungwon in centuries, takes control of his body, his mind, all his rationality and all his feelings when Kihyun pants them out, the two cursed words. 

_Bite me._

Hyungwon is nobody to refuse. In the burning viscid moment of pleasure, surrounded by dulcet sounds and milky smells and sticky touches, dived head-first into the pool of human heat and love, he is nobody to refuse.

Kihyun pleads subtly, with scratches down Hyungwon’s back and shoulders, with hoarse hums and strong heels digging into his hips. He breathes out harshly into Hyungwon’s mouth, glistening forehead almost pressed against his. Droplets of sweat slide down from his hairline into the fine eyebrows and then get blinked away or stick to his lashes like morning dew. A thin wet line frames his upper lip, and Kihyun can only lick away the salt when he isn’t panting for a breath of life. 

And he can’t breathe. Hyungwon, he is cold, dry, silky, he runs on gasoline of immortality and needs no insurance, because he will keep running even if the road leads to the very edge of a cliff. Kihyun, he needs the entire mansion brought to the boiling point to let the vampire in. The insane heat melts him to the state of no resistance, squeezes his lungs and messes with his mind, but he moans again and again and again, because Hyungwon’s body turns as steamed as his. 

Kihyun’s eyes are murky, almost incomprehensible, looking up at Hyungwon with a misty glint. In this state, in the state of being stupefied and intoxicated with pleasure, he wouldn’t even be able to recall his own name. And yet these two words keep whirling on his tongue like it’s the only thing he ever knows.

 _Bite me_ , he orders into the kiss. _Bite me_ , he gasps when Hyungwon sucks on the skin of his neck, marking roughly and yet as gently as humanly possible. _Bite me_ , Kihyun whimpers when snakes of arousal slither in his stomach, hiss in pleasing agony, numb his every other bodily function and gather in one place. The pleasure is pounding, flickering like a siren, red, red, red, red, loud, insistent, edging. 

And Hyungwon wants to hear him scream in delirium. 

“Aim for the artery,” Kihyun heaves, twisting his head to the side to let Hyungwon as close to his neck as possible. Hyungwon kisses over the bulging vein and listens to the scarily rapid heartbeat. He always sees the blue, feels the blue, drinks the blue, but for the first time ever, he wants to know the red. 

“I wanna come,” Kihyun wheezes again, a clammy trembling hand creeping to the back of Hyungwon’s head, as if guiding him into himself, keeping him attached, ensuring his proximity to his life vessels. “I wanna come so good.”

And Hyungwon loses any remaining restraints of self-control. Forgets his fear, forgets his morality, his promises, and his humanity be damned with them too. Kihyun embodies all his deadly hunger and he is the only one who can satiate it. His word is his command, and there has never been a lord greater to him than hunger. 

If Hyungwon could, he would hold his breath. Slowing down his movements to gentle swaying, long and slow and sweet, he cradles Kihyun’s head in arms, and Kihyun cradles his in return, presses Hyungwon close-close-close, softly gasps at every hit he receives. And Hyungwon caresses the tender skin of his neck with his lips, licks off the salt, paints it in purple and listens to the beat of life flowing from his heart to his head. One, two, three, four, fifty, sixty, a hundred, a hundred ten, a hundred twenty, rapid, powerful, drumming and hammering against the walls of his arteries. Threatening to break out and spill. Mocking, cackling, daring.

His mouth opens on its own accord, as if in an angry response to the playful pulse. His upper lip twitches, revealing what’s been hiding underneath – thin, ivory fangs, elongating the wider his mouth falls open. 

Hyungwon hears rather than sees Kihyun’s eyes rolling the moment he pierces his skin, quick, painful but precise, like an animal marking its prey. 

Two narrow punctures are enough to take away everything he’s been offered. Blood flows into his mouth like water from the tap, fills the entire cavity like a glass, burns his tongue and gums, and he has to swallow fast. With the very first gulp, his eyes swell scarlet. They sting, as if filling with acid until they burst out of their sockets. And it makes him want to carry on. 

He drinks _hungrily_. Beastly, wet gulps mix into the moans that have long faded into the dangerous ring in his ears. The bed creaking, the floor thudding, the walls chapping; their skin slapping against each other, Kihyun gasping into fuelled air, Hyungwon’s fingers ripping the pillow under the other’s head at the seams. He speeds up, the gasoline of immortality setting his every cell on fire.

Hyungwon breathes, pants, heaves as if human, hungry for the scent of living blood, pure, untainted by thoughts, thick with air and energy. Blood, leaving the living body as if it never belonged there in the first place. Hyungwon owns it. Owns it, drinks it and breathes it, as though petrol were his best friend. 

But blood escapes faster than he can swallow, erupts from the perfect round punctures and drizzles onto the white satin, teardrops of a mourning graveyard statue. Hyungwon drinks, and petals of a withering red rose falls against the snowy plain of their bed. Hyungwon drinks, and a frail vessel cracks, spilling and splashing the wine of gods onto the altar. 

Hyungwon inhales when Kihyun’s exhale vanishes into stale air. Nails that were scraping his scalp disappeared. Hyungwon knows no pain, and no human can ever hurt him with sheer strength of their hands, but Hyungwon knows it when he feels it – silent pleas like ploughs over his back, speechless orders like crows gnawing at his shoulders, mute encouragements like knife cutting the skin of his arms like a canvas made of threads. 

And right now, he feels none of it. 

The ache that comes with his heart dropping is stronger than anything he’s experienced before. It’s the ache that crawls up his spine in a cold shiver, the ache that freezes his organs, the ache that strikes against his skull so hard his vision goes black.

When he detaches himself from Kihyun’s neck, the blood spurts onto the sheets, not white anymore from the side he’s bitten into. The stain spreads, as if someone spilled an entire bottle of red wine onto the pillow. Except it’s blood, Kihyun’s blood, and it keeps pouring.

If Hyungwon could, he would hold his breath. But he never breathes, and his heart is still too. And yet he feels as if he were alive and crumbling on the inside, breath hitching and stomach twisting, eyes filing not with blood but with salt, and he feels cold. Panic, he feels physical panic, and he feels nothing else but it.

“Kihyun?..”

Because Kihyun doesn’t seem to move. His eyelids flutter so-so slightly and then stop, black crescents of his irises barely peeking underneath. They are dull. 

And he is so silent.

He is silent.

The force that throws Hyungwon off the bed is his own, his own panic, his own terror. His body moves on its own as it pushes him against the opposite wall and nails him to the ground. The panic is too heavy, he drops onto the floor, curls into himself, and it spreads and spreads, chains him together, covers his organs in stone, thrashes within his head as if to rupture it from the inside. 

Kihyun is still on the bed. Still. Silent. 

Still. 

Silent. 

Still.

Silent.

A four-letter word slashes itself in Hyungwon’s mind. No, he couldn’t. No. No. No. No. No. He couldn’t. He didn’t. Four-letter word. He couldn’t. He didn’t. No, no, no, no. No!

It’s black in front of him, but then there is Kihyun. No. The other day he brought Hyungwon flowers, knowing exactly how harsh his allergy is, and when Hyungwon sneezed and whined, he laughed, bright and beautiful, illuminating the entire house in sparkles of his happiness. No. The first day they met, they spent hours watching stupid soap operas on TV and arguing over the best character and potential ending the series could’ve had, despite both of them knowing exactly how it finishes. No. He stole Hyungwon’s snacks and used his coffee machine, walked around the huge foyer and marble kitchen like he owned them, so seemingly small and yet so incredibly confident, and Hyungwon thought he would fit very nicely in his arms. No. Fill the empty rooms. No. Colour monotone golden walls. No. The first time they kissed happened on the same day, and Kihyun replied with so much fervency Hyungwon started questioning if he really were just an ordinary human with some witchy powers. No. They kissed, and kissed, and kissed, and Kihyun’s thin chapped lips had fit so strangely and yet so nicely against his own. No. He always tasted of honey and chocolate. No. As Hyungwon later found out, it was the endless honeycomb bars Kihyun wouldn’t start consuming. No. He was so pleasantly soft under layers of clothing. No. He had the wittiest words rolling off his tongue. No. His tongue, his lips, his jokes. No. The way he talked. No. The way he moaned. No. The way he balled his fists and wrinkled his forehead in a spur of insane laughter. No. His frowns and cries in the moment of pleasure. No. His intelligence. No. His sex. No. His hugs. No. His magic. No. His spirit. No. His character. No. He–no, no, no. No. No. No.

Kihyun was still and silent. Still and silent. 

Still. 

Silent. 

No.

Kihyun sits up suddenly, the mattress bounces underneath, sensitive to the smallest movement after everything they’ve done to it. There is a smile blooming on his face, a healthy glint in his eyes, gentle blush on his cheeks and lips. His hair is in the irreparable state of a mess, a bird nest after a storm.

His cheeks puff up slightly when he smiles in question. “Why are you there?” There is a cheerful lilt in his voice, like he finds Hyungwon silly for trying to merge himself with the wall after sex. 

But the terror isn’t letting go of Hyungwon. The terror lingers in the bloody stain on the side of his neck, dry but still scarlet, fresh. The terror lingers in the smell of bloodied sheets and something else that isn’t meant to surround living humans. The terror lingers on Hyungwon’s lips, still misted with blood, in his throat, still burned with blood, in his eyes, still seeing blood all over the white. Blood. The terror lingers in the blood that he spilled, litres of it, dead and dry. 

The terror isn’t letting go. “I thought I killed you,” is whispered into the putrid air, shattered like broken glass, vulnerable like the last fallen petal of a withering rose, crumbled like an old statue by the family tombstone.

Kihyun’s eyebrows twitch before he smiles with even more confusion, but it’s tense, plastic, stretched over his lips in a strange line. “Oh, no, you didn’t, it’s okay,” he says casually and gulps, finally taking in Hyungwon’s form as a consequence and not a show. He keeps the corners of his mouth up. 

“I thought you were dead.”

Hyungwon’s voice doesn’t resemble that of a living being. He is trembling, and faint orange candles reflect in the wet streaks slashed across his cheeks. His eyes are the eyes of a deer caught in the headlights. He is so curled into himself frail bones threaten to pierce his bare skin. 

“I mean,” Kihyun tries again, quieter this time. “Even if I was I would rebirth myself anyways,” he adds with another twitch of a smile and shrugs. 

But Hyungwon is a deer caught in the headlights, he is a deer facing the unexpected fatal shock. A tear slides down his cheek, passes by the corner of his mouth and dissolves in the splatter of blood on his chin. He is so, so mortally terrified.

“I thought you were dead,” his voice breaks, and more tears spill from his eyes. 

Kihyun presses his lips in a line, as if regretful and apologetic, and he frowns with worry and understanding. There is a guilty look on his face, although the guilty one should be Hyungwon. Guilty, and cursed, and damned, and murdered, and sent to hell for what he’s just done. But instead Kihyun scrambles off the bed, healthy and balanced and still as soft under bare skin, and quietly approaches Hyungwon, kneeling in front of him. 

He won’t stop trembling. He won’t stop crying. He won’t stop silently mourning the one he deemed dead.

But Kihyun is alive and smiling again, tentatively, kindly, in encouragement, and reaches for his cheeks. His thumbs wipe away the sorrowful tears. “Hey, it’s okay,” he says quietly, as if soothing a scared child. 

Hyungwon swallows thickly, barely containing a hiccup. He looks at Kihyun, looks at him and knows he is his Kihyun, his strange witchy boyfriend, and still sees the last sparkle dulling in his half-covered irises, like a lit candle trapped in a glass. 

“Don’t do that again,” he pleads, broken. 

“I’m sorry,” Kihyun replies, voice hushed. And there are so many apologies written over his face, although Hyungwon doesn’t deserve a single one. “I just got excited.”

The terror slowly lets go, reassured by the warmth of small palms on Hyungwon’s cheeks and pretty twinkly eyes in front of him. Under the terrifying blood stain, his neck is clean and sewn together, and his pulse calmly taps a beat against the restored walls of his vessels. 

Kihyun is alive, and his cheeks are as rosy as they’ve always been. He is beautiful, even with hair all ruffled and naked body squished into itself in an awkward squat. 

“I thought I killed the man I love,” Hyungwon whispers and weakly rubs his cheek on one of Kihyun’s palms, eyes never leaving his.

Kihyun smiles, impossibly gently. “Do you love me?” And truth be told, they haven’t yet had the time to reveal their confessions to each other. Hyungwon feels foolish for choosing now out of any other time. 

But he replies, ever so quietly, “Yes.”

Kihyun’s smiles are the loveliest when they reach his eyes. “I love you too.” With that he puts his knees on the floor and envelops Hyungwon in the tightest embrace. He is warm, and so alive, and his heart beats a stable rhythm against Hyungwon’s chest, one, two, three, four, ten, forty, sixty. 

Kihyun is warm, but he shivers anyways. “You know, I’m getting a bit chilly here and your mansion doesn’t have very good heating,” he jokes, because they both know it’s the vampire’s terror-stricken body that’s radiating the cold of a Russian winter.

Hyungwon exhales with a weak smile. “I apologise.”

They stand up together, and Hyungwon is suddenly very conscious of everything around him; of his own nudity, of Kihyun’s bloodied neck, of the bloodied bed, of the bloodied air. It makes him lightheaded, nauseous, anxious, almost brings him to another stupor, but Kihyun rubs his arms and looks up at him with understanding.

“Want to go to the different bedroom?” He nods in the direction of the door and gently nudges him to follow. 

Kihyun sits Hyungwon on the edge of the bed in the new chamber and runs off to clean himself and bring a wet towel for the vampire too. The smell slowly dissipates, the darkness becomes comforting, his senses restore and so does his humanity. Kihyun waddles back into the room with a cloth, and he is everything Hyungwon ever knows. His loved one. He watches Kihyun’s fond expression as he wipes his face and holds on to the thought. 

When they hide under the heavy covers, Hyungwon embraces Kihyun tightly-tightly, holds onto him like a lifebuoy, makes sure he is warm for the thousandth time, makes sure he is real. Kihyun lightly laughs into his neck, and Hyungwon knows that he is.

He lets Kihyun shift onto his back when he gets sleepy. He is pacified, still and silent. But his eyelids flutter tiredly, and his breathing is calm and stable, deep in his lungs, soughing out of his nose. Hyungwon lays his head on Kihyun’s chest, feels it rise with every inhale and sink with every exhale. 

He hears Kihyun’s heart drum a peaceful beat against his cheek. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. He counts sixty-eight. 

“You’ve got all your blood restored,” Hyungwon quietly notes. One, two, three, four. Music to his ears.

Kihyun mutters a sleepy yes and mindlessly tangles his fingers in Hyungwon’s hair. One, two, three, four. Hyungwon can feel the strong heartbeat hit against the side of his face, making him move up and down ever so slightly. 

He rises and gently kisses the middle of Kihyun’s chest, right over the soft thumping, over the rounded bones and sweet skin.

“Keep it.”

Hyungwon counts one, two, three, four, ten, forty, sixty, a hundred, a thousand, three thousand over the night. 

Hyungwon is too old to trust witches. 

He’s lived long enough to know not to believe every word they say, every spell they cast, every potion they make. He knows about the pain that comes with contacting the afterlife, he knows about the wounds received after sewing a voodoo doll, he knows about manias infestating one’s mind after conquering higher magic. 

And he knows about sacrifices, the sacrifices that come with greater power. 

Retrieving information on rebirth magic wasn’t a hard job, no matter how deep the witches bury their most secret incantations. And because Hyungwon knows not to trust them, he also knows not to pretend like the devilry they inherited in the beginning of time is something to close his eyes on. 

Which is why he slaps the book close loud and clear as soon as he hears Kihyun come in and stops him in his tracks with a hard stare. He doesn’t usually look like that, Hyungwon, he never stares him down, unblinking and stern and tense, and so Kihyun swallows and drops his bag down, immediately recognising that something is off. 

Be is any other day he would quirk his eyebrow and accept the challenge, but he is literate and very observant, and The Ancient Book of Illegal Witchcraft written gold on black on the cover of the book in Hyungwon’s hands doesn’t escape him. 

Hyungwon waits for Kihyun to slowly starts mustering a guilty expression. “How many years do you sacrifice by healing yourself?” He asks head-on, voice as austere as his expression.

Kihyun rolls his eyes in good nature, as if counting, a forced pout finds its way to his lips, and he sways his head from side to side, looking for the most unceremonious answer. “Not that many,” he says casually, too casually, so forcefully casual it would make Hyungwon’s blood boil if he was capable of that. “If it’s a simple wound, just a couple of years, if it’s fatal then about a decade,” Kihyun says with the same casual pout, but his voice is quieter than usual, his posture is tight, and there is a strange glint in his eyes, as if he is… scared. The Kihyun Hyungwon knows has never known fear. 

But goddamnit if he should get a taste of it, because Hyungwon’s eyes flash with deadly fire upon hearing the answer, and he does not intend on letting it slip. “A decade?” He repeats, sharp and deafening in the grand spacious foyer of his mansion. Kihyun visibly cringes at the sudden outburst of noise. Hyungwon stands up. “You wasted almost a _decade_ after letting me drink you empty?” He stomps towards him, and Kihyun inhales through gritted teeth and raises his hands as to not let Hyungwon walk over him.

“Hey, hey, stop,” he tries, but the vampire suddenly towers over him, red eyes so full of hurt and betrayal and anger, it does make him feel small. Hyungwon is never like that, and because Kihyun loves him, he has to admit to fucking up. 

“No, you stop using me to fulfill your complex suicidal plots and some––sexual fantasies, Kihyun,” Hyungwon lashes out, pronouncing every word with so much clarity they cut. 

Kihyun takes a second to puff his chest but let his guard down, for the first time in so many, many years. “Hey, I have issues, okay?” He fights back, voice finally rising up to match Hyungwon’s. His hands are still held between them, keeping them at a distance. Hyungwon suddenly steps down from his stance, Kihyun’s fingers no longer touch his chest. He puffs back out. “Hear me out, okay? I never talk to anyone about it, but listen to me, please.”

Something shifts in Hyungwon’s eyes; they round again, letting go of the prying frown. Kihyun exhales. “I’m sorry. I’ve been through some shit, it’s not my fault I get like that.” Seeing Hyungwon’s expression slowly convert to guilty and worried, Kihyun slumps, letting go of everything. There is no use putting up a fight in a confession to the man he loves. “I lost my family when I was a kid, I watched my mother burn at the stake, I lost my brother to a workhouse, my entire clan was destroyed. Hyunwoo is the only person who reminds me of home, and he’s also dealing with so much shit we can’t... do it together.” He inhales with effort, feeling a boulder settle in his throat. He is struggling to look Hyungwon in the eyes as they start to sting. “I... guess I have a tendency to be sacrificial but I swear I’m working on it,” he puts his hands up again, reaffirming, and he is genuine, so very genuine. It’s written all over his face – the pain and regret that comes with resurfacing memories and issues he’s been burying inside for longer than he can remember himself. “I’m sorry. It just happens, when sometimes life feels like it doesn’t have a lot to offer and you…” Kihyun frowns, looking for the right words, “don’t care? And I,” he swallows tears he is trying so hard to keep inside, swallows through the thorns wrapping around his throat and squeezing, squeezing. “I even get happy when my lifespan decreases,” he says quietly, and his lips press together in a thin line, not a smile, not a frown. Just an expression of resignation. 

“That’s why I really-really don’t want immortality. I’m reckless and I’m so sorry.” At last, Kihyun lets a timid tear fall. He lowers his head and looks down at his feet. “I’m so sorry,” he almost chokes out but manages to save the words in a whisper.

His face is pressed against Hyungwon’s chest the next second, and long cold limbs wrap around him protectively. Kihyun doesn’t really like comforting hugs, but Hyungwon’s chest is still, silent, and his palms are a pleasant patch of cool on his back, and he doesn’t mind.

“Stop apologising, you’re Scottish, it’s just weird,” Hyungwon jokes, and Kihyun huffs a weak incredulous laugh, because his boyfriend is the only person that would make him laugh about it. And, god, he needs it. 

He hugs him back, squishes his cheek against the flat chest. It’s silent. 

And so, so comforting.

“You may be reckless, but I possess a hex of immortality,” Hyungwon says, and his voice is back to being Hyungwon’s – languid, calm, drowsy. Kihyun would put a fight before the other says what he wants to say, but he the stillness is too reassuring to lose. “I already don’t have this much time with you,” Hyungwon presses his lips to the crown of Kihyun’s head and mutters right into it, “and I love you, did you know?” It’s muffled and barely comprehensible, and Kihyun smiles again. Hyungwon smiles at his achievement and plants his chin into the bush of hair instead. “Please let me at least keep you alive for as long as I can.”

He brings his cold hands to Kihyun’s cheeks and guides him away from his chest, then leans down and kisses his forehead, chaste, tender, loving. Kihyun looks up, and Hyungwon’s eyes are a warm ruby. Like glühwein. 

“I start to realise you may not want to, but I would love to walk as many years as I can with you. Watch you grow and change, become a better person, lead a normal life. God, I would love a normal life with you,” Hyungwon smiles to himself, a cute curvy line forming in the place of his lips. “But I wouldn’t mind if it happens without me. If you start a family and grow old, not with me but with someone else, I would love to hang around and watch you be happy, even if I am not the source of you happiness anymore. I would be happy for you to just have a normal life, and I could, well, I could just be an uncle to your child, if such is present ten years from now.”

Kihyun weakly snorts at that and smiles, a tweak of cheekiness back in his features. “Or, you know, a second dad.”

And then he crinkles his face and shivers, hands balling into little fists, cringing with his entire body and existence. Hyungwon laughs and embraces him again, swaying them both from side to side. “I’m a vampire, planning ten years into the future is practically a nap.”

For a moment, Kihyun contemplates the idea of such an appealing nap. One ear against Hyungwon’s chest, and he listens, listens to the silence and stillness, and trusts it more than anything.

One, two, three, four, ten, forty, sixty, counts Hyungwon.

It’s comforting.

But Kihyun doesn’t want to be immortal, and Hyungwon is not reckless enough to go against his will.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! leave me feedback for more blood for hyungwon :3
> 
> i can't say when the second part will be posted, but i do plan on releasing it too
> 
> do hmu on twt @chaeleggiewon nya)


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